


Questions and Uncertainties

by CarminaVulcana



Series: Broken Unbroken [2]
Category: Baahubali (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-21
Updated: 2019-06-06
Packaged: 2019-06-30 11:15:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 19,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15750555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CarminaVulcana/pseuds/CarminaVulcana
Summary: The immediate aftermath of the battle between Mahendra and Bhallaladeva. This story is based on my other story 'Silences and Insanities' which is a canon-divergent piece in which Devasena and Mahendra escape while Amarendra is captured and held prisoner for 25 years. I advise reading that before this one.





	1. Chapter 1

Devasena found it difficult to convince herself that Amarendra was alive—even after seeing him, touching him, and hearing his voice. For years she had grieved for him, wept noiselessly through those long, cold nights without him. And now, suddenly, she had him back.

Funnily enough, she had often dreamed of such a reunion. She had fantasized about it—that out of the blue, somewhere, she would encounter him. Perhaps he would have survived somehow, escaped, and found refuge in some tribal village as well. He would be older and wiser. There would be lines on his forehead and around his eyes. His hair would have a few streaks of grey in it. But it would still be him. She would fall into his arms, sob with relief till her throat hurt, and she would never let go.

She hadn’t let go when she found him. She hadn’t sobbed either. Instead, she had fainted on seeing him. In her mind, dreams never came true in real life. And the shock of being proven wrong so dramatically had been too much for her.

Eventually, she had woken up to the sounds of battle. She had watched the terrifying fight between Mahendra and Bhallaladeva. She had watched her husband fall back into his old avatar of savior and commander, ensuring victory for the Kuntala rebels while minimizing their casualties. She, in turn, had taken a moment to really look around. Mahishmati. The ever-imposing pile of rock and stone where it had all begun, where it had all gone so horribly wrong 25 years ago. She had seen that atrocious, obnoxious statue of Bhallaladeva. She had seen the small, dirty cage where her husband had been imprisoned. She had also seen the pile of dried wood and twigs in the empty flowerbed overlooking the cage. For years, her dreams had been haunted by the smile of her husband, his imagined last words before he died, and the fantasy of seeing Bhallaladeva burn alive, screaming in agony as the flesh melted off from his bones.

Who had put this pile of inflammables together? Had it been her husband? Her gentle, kind Amarendra who would have balked at the thought of burning someone 25 years ago? She remembered how guilty he had been for burning parts of the Kalakeya army and the horns of Kuntala's bulls even though it had all been in self defense and in truly dire situations.

She looked up and tried to find him with her eyes. There he was. Thin as a reed, with cracked lips and hollowed cheeks, lifeless hair, blistered arms and feet, fighting alongside the rebels. Had these years of such utter torment turned him bitter? Did he also thirst for revenge as she did?

All these thoughts had assailed her and after a moment of thinking, she had fired up the agnipatra for the Rakshasa Daahan, knowing that justice would come with the total incineration of the devil who had started it all.

Oh… she had tasted vengeance on her tongue and in the sweat that had flowed from her temples due to the heat of the agnikunda on her head.

After completing the Rakshasa Daahan, she had waited eagerly for Mahendra to toss Bhallaladeva into the burning pyre.

However, she should have known better.

Her husband had not allowed it. All these years of suffering had not managed to taint him with their vileness.

“Son, we don’t have to fall to his level,” he had said.

And Bhalla had charged at him like a mad bull, enraged at his humiliating mercifulness. Acting on pure instinct, Katappa had come between them and slit Bhallaladeva’s throat in an instant.

The clouds of despair over Mahishmati’s sky had cleared up even as the earth had bled and wept at the unnecessary loss of life caused by these decades of anger and pain.

But now, it was over.

For the first time in his life, her Sivudu sat on a velvet chair with arms made of pure gold. The royal physician attended to his wounds while the rest of the nursing staff and trainee healers took charge of caring for the injured soldiers from both sides.

Her eyes searched for her husband again. But he was nowhere to be seen.

Katappa stood a few feet away, unsure of what to say now that the exile was over and there were no more battles to be fought for the time being. He could not bring himself to look into her eyes and see the anger reflected in them. He did not have the courage to even talk to Mahendra, even though he had narrated to him the entire sorry tale of his origins not too long ago.

Devasena broke the silence.

“Mama,” she began. “Where is my husband?”

Katappa had to force himself to look at her.

“He is… he…. Why don’t I take you to him?” he answered. “It will be easier.”

She nodded.

Mahendra was in good hands. The physician had already cleaned and bandaged most of his injuries.

But she still asked him if she could go.

“Mother, I will be fine,” he assured her with a small, pensive smile that was nothing like him. The weight of the battle, of discovering his heritage, and the shock of finding his father was reflected in his restricted smile. The meaning of being Mahendra Baahubali was crushing the reality of growing up as Sivudu.

Devasena saw it all.

“I know it is difficult,” she said softly. “But it will get easier.”

Mahendra shook his head… “Ma, you worry too much. Please…”

He probably did not understand everything fully yet but he could appreciate how momentous this had to be for his mother. She had entertained him with amazing stories of his father—the feats of strength, the playful antics, the deeds of goodness, and even some of the love he had shown her as a husband—but it was still difficult for him to reconcile the man from those stories with the beaten shadow of a man he had rescued from that tiny, dirty cage.

And yet, he had seen the glimpses of the man from the stories during battle.

As the physician bandaged a shallow gash on his shoulder, Mahendra allowed himself to think back to everything that had transpired in the last 24 hours.

He relived the moment when he first saw his father.

He had not immediately seen his face but those heavy chains on his arms and legs; they had made his blood boil. Later, when he had been outwitted by the soldiers who intercepted his chariot, his father had jumped into the fray and protected him before they were both knocked out by the heavy blows of the club.

He had woken up to the sight of his father being choked by the very chains that had been his nemesis for so long. And he had heard the insults from Bhadradeva’s foul mouth.

_“You lousy old bastard… So many years of punishment and you still haven’t learned anything. You may think you’re a man. But you’re nothing. You’re not even worth being a eunuch. Maybe when we take you back this time, you’ll finally be neutered. Maybe then you will stop with this drama of your heroics. Bloody idiot!!!”_

Oh… it had felt good to kill Bhadradeva. So good. Such satisfaction.

But while it had felt good, the burden of a hundred more deaths sat on his shoulders. He had killed guards and soldiers who had only been following orders. He didn’t know what else he could have done. He had never had to take such split-second decisions.

Later, he had heard from Katappa the story of how everything had begun. And it had felt strange to see his mother sit at his father’s side, clutching his hands close to her chest as if scared that he’d be taken away from her any moment.  It had been stranger still to hear of Baahubali’s exploits while he sat there looking lost and out-of-place as if he wasn’t quite sure what to make of everything. At one point, he had taken to staring at the ground, embarrassed because he had been unable to stop Katappa from going into the gruesome details of his capture.

_“I ran him through with my sword,” Katappa said, determinedly looking away from Baahubali. “And he told me to look after the Rajmata before he lost consciousness. I thought he was dead. I did not check to make sure; I was so overcome with grief and guilt and disgust at myself. But then Bhallaladeva came along. He ordered me to leave. He said he wanted some… some… pr.. private time with his younger brother. He wanted gloat at his victory, about how he had tricked us all into committing murder. I… I did not have the guts to watch the mutilation of my beloved Baahu. Besides, it was a direct order. I agreed to leave. I told Rajmata that I killed him. Your mother realized something had gone wrong and despite just having given birth, she rushed to the palace with you in her arms. I tried to help them both escape along with you. But in the ensuing chaos, Sivagami Devi and you got separated from your mother. Of course, we never realized this. I thought you had all escaped but then when we never heard back from any of you and Sivagami Devi’s bloodstained jewelry was found-- we had no choice but to assume that you had all been killed and perhaps eaten by some wild animal because there was no trace of any bodies either. But I am getting ahead of myself. A few hours after you escaped, I returned to the palace to a shocking sight. Baahubali had not died by my sword. Injured grievously but not dead. And Bhallaladeva had changed his mind. It gave him immense pleasure to see his younger brother brought so low. He decided to take it as far as he could. Many times, I tried to convince Baahu to leave, to run away, to allow me to cut away his chains, but he wouldn’t listen to me. In his anger at your mother, Bhallaladeva reduced Kuntala to cinders. He promised Baahubali that should he ever escape, the royal court would summon and execute every man, woman, and child he had ever spoken to-- on acc...acc... account of treason. And so, your father held his silence and bore his sentence stoically because he was unwilling to be the reason for a genocide. I never thought things would change. In my mind, our hope had died with you. But your father? He refused to believe you were dead. However, he wished you would never return to this place. He hoped you were safe and healthy wherever you were. That you are here now, come to take your rightful place as our king—it is nothing short of a miracle and a blessing, an answer to our prayers, to your mother’s exile, and to the Rajmata’s sacrifice.”_

It had been a lot to take in. And even now, he was not sure what he was going to say to his father in the way of a real, proper introduction.

“This should suffice, Maharaj,” the physician said, knotting the last bandage on his left knee. He felt weird being addressed as Maharaj. It was a rather unbelievable leap from plain, old, waterfall-obsessed Sivudu to the king of Mahishmati.

But maybe, in time it would indeed get easier. He could only hope.

XXXXX

“Do you want me to stay here?” Katappa asked Devasena. “I can go away if you’d prefer?”

But she wasn’t sure.

“I am scared, mama,” she said. ‘I… What if I don’t know him anymore. He… he is obviously not the same as he used to be.”

The older man nodded sadly.

“Yes,” he said. “He is different now. He has changed. But you will find he is still the same in many ways.”

She swallowed roughly and took a deep breath.

She had dreamt of this moment all her life, always knowing that it would remain but a dream. And yet, she was living it for real.

Now was her moment.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here's the second chapter of this story. Let me know what you think. Reviews and comments inspire me to write. I live for feedback. And if you'd like to connect with me on Tumblr, my username is CarminaVulcana. This story is going to focus on Amarendra's recovery from captivity and the rebuilding of the family in the aftermath of "Silences and Insanities." If there are specific scenarios you would like me to explore, don't hesitate to ask.

Lost in his own thoughts, Amarendra Baahubali stared at the now broken cage that had been his home for the quarter of a century.

Had it been home though? Was that the right word for it.

He had lived through some of the worst physical pain imaginable in that cage. He had bled on its dirt countless times in the last 25 years. He had been woken up by his nightmares numerous times in that damp, cold space. He had hungered for food and comfort and a friendly face many times through the years of his captivity. He had despaired for his mother, his wife, and his child. He had tried and failed to make peace with their deaths. He had longed for a glimpse of the world beyond the cage and its immediate vicinity.

It had been a home of the sorts; the home of his dashed hopes, shattered dreams, and achingly real nightmares that oscillated between his wife’s affectionate hands and his mother’s smoldering eyes.

On the walls of the cage were numerous frequency tables and one incomplete set of three tally marks. He didn’t remember exactly when he had drawn that last mark. But it had been the day he had stopped counting. It had been the day he had finally resigned himself to an eternity in hell.

In a corner of the cage was a mess of rags that he had used unsuccessfully for the last many years to maintain some semblance of personal hygiene. Towards the opposite end of the cage was the torn shawl and the thin blood-stained blanket he had wrapped around himself when he was too overcome by the pain or the cold. In the center of the cage, partially hidden under the dirt, was a tattered manuscript of the _Raghuvamsha_ that had been given to him as a child by his Guru Pramodananda. Like all his other possessions, he had had to leave it behind after he was exiled. He had heard that his things had been destroyed. And even though he had refused to admit it to Devasena, that had hurt him. That news had confirmed his worst fear; mother had decided to never forgive him.

But later, barely a few days into his imprisonment, he had found out that his things had not been destroyed. Somewhere, the Rajmata had nurtured a hope that the circumstances would eventually change. She had had his things stored in two gigantic trunks.

Of course, Bhallaladeva had known about it and he had taken great pleasure in finally bringing those trunks out and burning every object in front of his eyes. Devasena’s bangles, her personal dagger, her kohl bottle, her hair ornaments, her quills, her saris, her slippers, his inkpots, his mathematical instruments, his flute, his manuscripts of the Ramayana, the Mahabharata, and the Arthashastra, his riding harness, the last of his parents' personal artifacts. Bhalla had destroyed everything.

Except for the Raghuvamsha, which Katappa had managed to steal and keep safe for him.

For the entirety of his captivity, he had read verses from it to prevent himself from going mad. But he had been careful to always keep it hidden. 

It was over now. He wouldn’t have to hide anything anymore.

However, a part of him was frightened and anxious. The world had moved on without him. He had felt it in battle. Even the arrows and swords had been different than he remembered them. He had detected subtle differences in language, in the sensibilities of the rebels. He was certain that this was only the beginning. He would continue to realize how much he had missed over the coming few weeks.

He didn’t feel ready for it.

Everything felt too large, too grand, too complex. The simplicity of enduring was gone with the cage. But his ability to engage with this newfound freedom refused to return.

He was still trying to process the fact that his wife and child were alive.

Mahendra.

"Mahendra." He repeated it under his breath, rolling it around on his tongue, familiarizing himself with it—savoring it without the usual accompanying pangs of sadness.

Mahendra. He looked extraordinarily like him, except he had his mother’s lips and ears. It probably would not be apparent to anyone else. But he had memorized every contour of Devasena’s body years ago. He would know her anywhere, even blindfolded. And hence, he could see her in their son perhaps better than anyone else.

And she. She had held him. She had fallen right into his waiting arms. He wondered if she had also secretly hoped that they would meet again in this lifetime.

XXXXX

For several minutes, Devasena didn’t move. She stood at a distance and watched him.

Even though she could not really grasp how significant this moment was for him, she knew she had to take it slow. It was true that she had held his hands close to her chest throughout Katappa’s dialogue with Mahendra. But she had had to work hard to keep herself from touching the stubs where his thumbs used to be. She had constantly stared at him while avoiding his eyes. And she had tried very hard keep herself from imagining the horrors he had seen during his captivity.

She had had no chance to really say anything to him during the battle.

But now, she had a hundred thousand things to say to him and a million more to ask.

At the same time, she wasn’t even sure how to address him.

What should call him? All these years, she hadn’t dared to remember him as “Veer,” her term of endearment for him. She had strictly stuck to thinking of him as Amarendra.

But now, she longed to call him Veer. Did he remember his old name? Was it possible that he had forgotten?

She turned around and looked at Katappa with pleading eyes, unsure and apprehensive.

He nodded at her, trying to imbue her with courage.

After a long moment, she opened her mouth to utter the name she had never thought she’d say again.

“Veer…”

He didn’t hear her.

Her heart thudded loudly in her chest. She stepped closer to him and spoke a little louder this time.

“Veer…”

He turned around. His eyes were moist with unshed tears. Hers were too dry as if there were no more tears left in them.

“Devasena…” he acknowledged her. “I…. I…. I am sorry.” His voice was thick with emotion.

“No, my love,” she said, closing the distance between them. “You don’t have anything to apologize for. I have found you again. I can’t believe it.You are here. All these years, I prayed for a miracle, knowing that miracles only ever happen in stories… but you… you are here.”

And with those words, she burst into tears. Like a dam that had been straining for too long, like a river that had been chained for centuries, like a flood that would devastate everything in its path, Devasena wept—but her crying, while heartrending, was a sign of her overwhelming relief. She didn’t try to stifle the noise. She didn’t try to make it dignified. She simply let out the pain she had been holding inside here, hidden away from her son and from her adoptive family in the Amburi tribe.

Instinctively, Baahubali extended his arms to draw her into them. But he hesitated for a moment before touching her.

“Won’t you… won’t... won’t you hold me?” she said between choked sobs, noticing his uncertainty.

“I… would like that very much but I am a bit… a bit dirty,” he answered honestly. He felt his cheeks flush with embarrassment.

“No… no… never say that,” she said with a chuckle that ended in a sob and placed her hand on his lips. “Nothing about you is dirty. Never. You are perfect. And I am so grateful that I have you back.”

She pulled him into a tight embrace. She tried to be mindful of his physical condition, but she could not bear to be without even for a minute longer.

“You are so glorious,” he murmured as he took in the familiar yet distant scent of her hair. He pulled her closer and clung to her for dear life, uncaring of who might be watching.

“You are perfect,” Devasena responded. “Even more perfect than the sun and the stars. Even more perfect than everything that this world has ever seen.”

“I am not the man you remember,” he said, feeling unworthy of her high praise and scared that he would not be able to live up to her memory of him.

But she would have none of it.

“I am not the same woman either,” she said simply. “It is okay. We will relearn each other. And we will be okay.”

The words were spoken with a heartbreaking honesty tapered with a touch of hope.

Two days ago, Baahubali had asked himself yet again what he was atoning for and how long before he was considered cleansed of his sins.

His answer was here.

He had served his time. And this was his reward.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Amarendra and Devasena start to pick up the pieces of their life.

It was late afternoon when Devasena and Baahubali returned to the palace. Their reunion was nothing short of a miracle. And while they would have loved to bask in its afterglow, they understood that bigger things were at stake.

Mahishmati was about to undergo a major political and social change. Technically, their son Mahendra was the king. But he had so much to know, to learn, and to adjust to before he could fully take on that responsibility.

Both felt awkward as they entered the palace.

Amarendra had not stepped inside the building in 25 years. Through his torturous punishments, Bhallaladeva had drilled into his head that he was nothing more than a worthless orphan who had never deserved a place in the royal household.

It took a lot of willpower for him to keep his gait steady while trying to stem the rapid flow of thoughts running through his mind. Every hallway and room reminded him of the life he had known when he was a boy.

The corridor leading into the hall of audiences—He and Bhalla had often interrupted meetings by blowing raspberries outside the meeting chamber. They had been reprimanded severely by the Rajmata. And their riding privileges had been taken away from them for two entire days! Bhalla had been 8. He had been a little over 7.

As they passed the study and the library, he remembered his last lesson with his Guru, Swami Pramodananda.

_“And Dharma is not that which is written in the books, codified in the law, or set in stone by a society’s organizing principles. Your duty is to protect, to serve, and to love the people of your kingdom—from the weakest and the humblest to the mightiest and the richest. When in doubt or in conflict with the Shastras, ask yourself if your next action will cause harm to an innocent, irrespective of that individual’s caste, creed, or color. Use the Shastras as your guides. But only bind yourself to your conscience. Do not allow any other source to dictate your morality. Let no law, ritual, tradition, or book get in the way of your righteousness. The ability to listen to yourself and to follow what you know to be correct—That, dear prince, is Dharma.”_

The northern courtyard brought back memories of the last time he had practiced with the newest batch of soldiers that year. He had taught a 15-year-old boy called Seemantra to shoot two targets with one arrow. Seemantradeva was now the Master of Archers and an instructor in Mahishmati’s army.

While he fought back the onslaught of images from his past, Devasena watched him carefully. Her memories of this palace were limited. And most of them were not very good. To her, there wasn’t much meaning behind any of these rooms except for the upper floors, where she and Amarendra had lived for a few short months after their marriage and before their exile.

But she knew how this was affecting him.

At long last, they reached the antechamber of the court. Mahendra was resting in an easy chair with his eyes closed. A healer sat next to him, reading a manuscript. He stood up as he saw them approaching.

“Greetings, My Lord and Lady,” he said bowing deeply with a fist over his heart. It was amazing how easily he addressed them with royal titles so soon after the fall of Bhallaladeva. He showed Amarendra the same respect he had shown to the previous king and to the new King sleeping beside him. Of course, like every other member of the royal staff, he had seen the wretchedness and the misery of the older Baahubali for years. But he acted as if it had never existed.

He walked over to the couch and placed two velvet cushions on it. Then, he stood aside and waited for Devasena and Amarendra to take a seat.

Several moments passed but they remained rooted to the floor.

“Is something the matter, My Lady?”  

Devasena hesitated before answering.

“Erm... we… we would like some privacy,” she managed to stammer out. She had meant to sound somewhat authoritative, but it did not come naturally to her anymore.

“Certainly, My Lady,” the healer responded and left the room.

“Maybe… maybe we should talk more,” Devasena said to her husband. “We have a lot to discuss. Come, let us sit and talk.”

Amarendra eyed the couch warily. It had been too long since he had been allowed to sit on any sort of soft surface, let alone a plush, luxurious couch. He would have preferred to sit on the floor. But he was afraid that would worry his wife. He made his choice and took a seat beside her.

“What do you want to talk about?” he asked.

“Just… you know… these…,” she began. But then she shook her head. “You know what, I don’t know what I want to talk about. I just want to talk. A lot.”

Amarendra smiled; that heartbreaking, devastating smile of his that had stolen her heart all those years ago.

“You know I always knew you were not the village simpleton that you claimed to be,” she said fondly. “But I felt so bad when I threw you in front of that bull.”

“Did that make you believe me?” He asked. “That I was indeed an idiot.”

“Well, I am not entirely sure. I think I was too hopelessly in love with you. Besides, Katappa is a horrible actor. He was enjoying it far too much. His glee gave him away.”

“Really? And I thought it was Kumara Varma’s stunt with that tree stump.”

“You mean, your stunt that you tried to pass off as his. Come on, I grew up around the guy. I knew he didn’t do it. And you claimed to be an idiot. Katappa… well, he looked too skinny and goat-like to be that strong. I was very annoyed by things not adding up.”

“Katappa looked like a goat?” Amarendra tried not to laugh.

“Yeah… he did,” Devasena said. “You don’t agree with me?”

“Oh well, I don’t know,” he answered. “But I do know there was someone else who likened him to a goat as well.”

“Oh really… who was it?” she asked.

“You don’t know her. I don’t either.”

“Was it definitely a her?” she joked. And then, she felt silent.

“Um... I don’t think I ever apologized to you for that bull incident,” She said after a few minutes.

“You’re still thinking about that?” Amarendra chuckled. “Don’t worry about it. It was so long ago. Besides, I was rewarded with a beautiful princess for that little bit of trouble.”

“I put you in harm’s way.”

“But I didn’t really get hurt.”

“Wait… you faked it?”

“To some extent.”

“Well, all these years my conscience wouldn’t let me sleep and now you tell me.”

“I would have told you sooner, but we never got the chance. Better late than never though. Now, you can stop feeling so guilty.”

Devasena swallowed roughly. While this easy banter with her husband felt like balm on her soul, she was very aware of the elephant in the room.

“I did put you in harm’s way. And you did get hurt,” she said, her eyes dropping to the angry, raised scars encircling the base of his neck, caused by years of wearing a tight, abrasive chain around it.

He didn’t respond. He wished he could reassure her. But how could he when he, himself, wasn’t ready to deal with the weight of everything that had happened to them. He decided to change the topic.

“Tell me about our son.”

Devasena smiled.

“Well, you have seen some of him already,” she said. “He looks almost exactly like you. He grew up asking me about you. He wanted to know all kinds of things. Did you know how to sing? Could you catch your own fish? What was your favorite story as a child? What was your favorite food?”

“And did you have answers to his questions?”

“Sometimes.”

“What did you do when you didn’t have the answers?”

“I told him I didn’t know. He understood.”

“Was he angry that I wasn’t there for him?”

“No. Fortunately, Rushima and Sanga were always there for him. They don’t have any children of their own. So, they loved Mahendra like a son. Of course, we called him Sivudu; which reminds me that they must be waiting for us. They and the other people from Amburi and… and…. my family. I had never thought I would see Jayasena again. Thank you for saving his life. Bhallaladeva would have killed him had you not gotten to him in time.”

“Jayasena is family to me as well. I wish I could have saved Kumar Varma.”

Devasena could not respond to that. She had never properly grieved for Kumar Varma. Even after so many years, his death felt so fresh. The pain was still sharp and piercing in its intensity.

For some time, neither of them spoke. A quarter of an hour passed in a companionable silence. Devasena absentmindedly drew circles on the back of Amarendra’s right hand while he watched the sleeping form of his son.

“How did Mahendra come searching for me?” he asked. “How did he know where to come?”

“I am not sure,” she answered. “But I think there is plenty of time to answer those questions. Though, somewhere deep inside, I always knew he would find a way to go back to Mahishmati. He was so fascinated by the waterfall near the Neganikumbhini mountains. His roots would have called to him sooner or later anyway.

Just then, three guards arrived.

Amarendra tensed involuntarily. His mind knew they weren’t here to chain him or harm him. But his body still reacted to them with trepidation.

“My Lord and Lady,” the guards knelt and bowed. ““There are some villagers who have come to see you. A woman called Dhanalakshmi is with them. She says you lived with her family during your exile. We tried to turn them away but Katappa told us to ask you if you’d like to see them.”

Like the healer, they pretended as if nothing had changed and that their respect for Amarendra and Devasena was completely routine.

Amarendra wasn’t certain he was ready to deal with people so soon. But Devasena’s gut told her otherwise.

“We will see them,” she answered without consulting her husband.

“Your wish is our command,” the guards bowed again and left, presumably to bring back the villagers with them.

“I… I don’t want to meet anyone just yet,” Amarendra said.

“I know how you feel,” she said gently. “And that you need rest, time, and space. But these people; they were there for us when we had nowhere else to go. They genuinely loved us. I think they just want to see us and make sure we are real and that this isn’t a dream.”

He nodded in understanding even though he was still a little doubtful.

A few minutes later, guards returned with the villagers. Dhanalakshmi was indeed among them. But she looked a lot older than they remembered. Her hair was completely white, and she had to be in her late 70s by now.

She stood in the center of the room with the other villagers and feasted her aging eyes on the two long-lost royals.

Silent tears rolled down her face, but it was obvious these were tears of relief.

“Maharani,” she addressed Devasena first. “We thought we would never see you again. Your son; I held him when he came out of you. Such a beautiful, healthy baby. And we thought we’d lost you and him and our King. But you are here… God has answered our prayers….”

She then fell at Amarendra’s feet.

“What are you doing, Amma,” he said and bent down to help her stand up. “Please…”

But she cut him off.

“I was there, you know,” she said. “Among the people captured by Bhallaladeva to get you to comply. My daughter-in-law, my grandson, my granddaughter, and I, we were there when he forced you to choose between our wellbeing and your own debasement. I saw them beat you with switches and whips. I saw them burn your feet. I couldn’t bear to watch anymore after that. But I know you bore it all for us. That is why he let us go. How do I give thanks to you? In what words?”

Amarendra remembered that horrible night all too well. He did not want to fall apart here in front of all these people. And certainly not in front of Devasena.

“Amma, I fulfilled my Dharma, nothing more,” he said, hoping it would end the conversation.

But Dhanalakshmi had walked eight miles for a bigger reason than just seeing Baahubali with her own eyes.

She turned around and motioned to two young women to come forward.

“This is my granddaughter, Ambika,” she said of the tall, dark haired girl. “And this, is someone you know very well,” she said, referring to the petite woman with a baby in her arms. “Sarvapriya, the younger daughter of Murugunashekharan.”

That rang a bell in his mind. He allowed himself a small smile.

“You look well,” he said to Sarvapriya.   

“I am well, Maharaj” she answered shyly. “I can never forget what you did for me.”

“How is your father? How is your older sister?” Amarendra asked.

“I do not know how father is,” she answered. “After performing my wedding rites, he left for Kashi. My older sister, Kannagi, moved to Sarvala with her husband. With God’s grace, I have four children now. Three sons and a daughter. In our community, we don’t name babies until 40 days after birth. My daughter is only 38 days old yet. It is a miracle that you have been freed and Mahishmati will flourish and prosper once again. I am going to call my daughter Amritha, in your honor.”

Amarendra did not know how to respond to something this profound. He was moved beyond words. But the visitors were not done yet.

“There is more, My Lord,” Dhanalakshmi said. “Today is also Rakshabandhan. You have protected us in every way you could through all these years, through the worst of Bhallaladeva’s cruelties. We want to tie these sacred threads of Rakhi on your wrist.”

Amarendra looked at Devasena for help. He was completely overwhelmed.

But she wasn’t faring much better than him. Her face was wreathed in tears. She nodded to him, encouraging him to accept the rakhis of the women.

“I don’t believe I am worthy of this great honor that you wish to give me,” he said to the women. “But I am humbled that you would consider me your brother.”

Dhanalakshmi smiled a wide, toothy smile of pure, unadulterated joy.

She came close to him and tied a red thread around his left wrist. Sarvapriya followed her and tied a yellow thread under the red one.

“May the Gods shower their blessings upon you and your entire clan for generations to come,” they blessed him.

Then, Sarvapriya addressed Devasena.

“Maharani, the people have sent new clothes and ornaments for you and the Yuvaraj.”

“That is very kind of them,” Devasena answered. “But I am not the Maharani. And Amarendra Baahubali is not your king. Rajmata Sivagami declared our son Mahendra Baahubali as your Maharaj. But he is resting right now as you can see.”

“He is still our Yuvaraj and you are still our Maharani. Rajmata Sivagami made a mistake all those years ago and crowned Bhallaladeva in her anger. But for us, Amarendra Baahubali never ceased to be our king, even while he was chained and caged with no hope of release.”

By this point, a small crowd had gathered in the antechamber. Among them, were Katappa and Maharani Vaidehi, the widow of Bhallaladeva.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I absolutely love reviews and comments. Please share what you think and if you'd like me to explore something specific in the coming chapters. Connect with me on Tumblr if you wanna discuss more Baahubali stuff. My username is CarminaVulcana.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey all, I am back with another chapter. This one is heavy on the angst. I try and write realistically. And I see Amarendra Baahubali as a human being. An excellent, gorgeous, amazing man but very human, nonetheless. Considering the premise of Silences and Insanities, it is a given that his recovery would be tough. This chapter deals with some of that. I promise there will be Mahendra and fluff in the next one. As always, comments are love. They make me happy and encourage me to write. So please don't hesitate to tell me what you think. I also created a YouTube playlist for Silences and Insanities. Here is a link to the Tumblr post: https://carminavulcana.tumblr.com/post/177609998647/silences-and-insanities-playlist

Vaidehi watched from a distance. The people were glad to have Amarendra Baahubali back. To them, he was not just a legend. He was a friend and a family member to be welcomed back into their midst after a long exile.

She had never spoken to him before or interacted with him directly. She had witnessed her husband’s anger and cruelty against him. But nothing more. She had pitied him from afar. But she had never stopped for a moment to think of him as a real man; a human being with a story, loved ones, memories, dreams, and hopes. His wretchedness had been his defining characteristic in her mind.

But now, seeing him surrounded by these people who couldn’t get enough of him, was making her ask some rather uncomfortable questions. And of course, the young boy sleeping on the couch looked so much like him, it was surreal.

She could not feel charitable towards him. He had killed her son.

She had hated her husband with a passion. She had hated the way he had taken their son away from her and raised him to be like himself. But despite it all, she had loved Bhadra. And this man, the long-lost son of the woeful prisoner, had killed him in cold blood.

She felt nothing inside—neither relief at Bhallaladeva’s death, nor any joy at Baahubali’s release. She felt remorse that her only son was dead. But even that sentiment felt thorny to hold on to.

She also saw Devasena; the woman whose name her husband had often uttered contemptuously while violating her. She did not know how to feel about her either. She knew that this woman had probably lived in her own mental hell for all these years. She clearly loved Baahubali and it would have been difficult to live without him for so long and to raise a son all by herself in a far-flung village with no contact with the outside world.

Even then, Vaidehi could not really sympathize with her. She didn’t understand the love. She had never really loved Bhallaladeva. She had been a prisoner for all these years as well. And now her son had been killed. There was no common ground between her and Devasena; except for her husband’s obsession to dominate them both and the fact that like it or not, they were sisters-in-law.

The room she currently occupied had once been Baahubali’s. She realized with a jolt that as the current queen, even if widowed, she had responsibilities. Living arrangements would have to be made for these new members of the family. An entire wing of the palace would have to be cleaned and refurnished for her brother-in-law and his wife. Another section will have to be prepared for the new crown prince.

“Katappa, I must go back to make arrangements for them,” she whispered to the old slave who was standing next to her. “I will personally supervise everything. Meanwhile, please make sure they are made comfortable in the guest suite. I had enough rooms prepared for the Sthapanam ceremony. Also, ask Sudarshan Kumar to come and see me in the queen’s meeting chamber. All the other guests should be politely asked to leave. Mahishmati is going through a lot right now and we cannot entertain the guests any longer.”

Katappa nodded and bowed deeply.

“As you wish, my queen,” he said, glad to see her taking initiative. He had been worrying all day about the practical implications of everything that had happened. He was relieved to see that the queen was willing to take care of those matters.  He noticed that she hadn’t greeted Baahubali or Devasena. However, he didn’t say anything. This whole situation was bizarre and if she wanted to take it at her own pace, who was he to say otherwise.

XXXXX

Vaidya Mukundaraju returned to a strange sight. He had come back to check on the recuperating prince, but he was greeted by the sight of some 20 ordinary villagers surrounding Amarendra Baahubali and Devasena.

Every single person in that crowd wanted to touch them and talk to them. By the looks of it, this had been going on for some time. Of course, being Amarendra Baahubali, the old king returned every greeting, accepted every blessing, and wore a constant smile on his face.

But Mukundaraju was the chief physician of Mahishmati for a very good reason. His trained eyes saw right through Baahubali’s good-natured graciousness. The man was exhausted, hurting, and about to pass out any minute.

He wondered if he should directly approach them and tell the crowd to disperse. But then, he noticed Katappa. Like Maharani Vaidehi Devi, he found it easier to deal with him.

“The prince needs to rest,” he said. “Can you ask these people to leave?”

Katappa nodded and then turned to face the crowd and Amarendra. For a moment, his throat refused to make a sound. He had not said a single word to him since his release and he wasn’t sure what to say now. But the physician was right. All this noise would wake Mahendra up despite the medicines he had been given to help him rest.

“Ma..Maharaj,” he said softly. “I believe we should take this audience to a different room. Your son is resting. Vaidyaji thinks he should be allowed some peace and quiet while he recovers.”

“Oh, yes, right,” Amarendra answered, feeling guilty instantly for not realizing this sooner.

He and Devasena made their way out of the antechamber followed by the villagers. The physician and Katappa were the last ones to leave.

“I want to examine him as well,” Mukundaraju remarked, gesturing towards the doorway with his eyes. “Can you shorten the rest of this affair, so I can take him to one of the upper rooms and look after him. You know as well as I do that he needs it.”

“Certainly,” Katappa responded and exited the room.

XXXXX

“Don’t leave us and go again,” Dhanalakshmi said tearfully. All the other villagers had left. Only she, Ambika, and Sarvapriya remained. “Promise us you won’t leave?”

“Amma, how can I pr…” Amarendra started to answer but the older woman cut him off.

“No, you promise us,” she insisted. “I will not leave otherwise.

He looked at Devasena helplessly. But she did not come to his rescue this time.

At long last, he folded his hands around Dhanalakshmi’s and raised them to his forehead.

“I will not leave you all again,” he said. “I will stay in any and every capacity I can, to protect you and watch over you.”

With his word finally given, Dhanalakshmi and the two girls departed in peace, grateful and relieved beyond belief.

As soon as they left, Baahubali let out a huge breath. He let the smile drop from his face and allowed his tiredness to show. He needed to sit down for a minute but just as he tried to take a step forward, he was overcome by a dizzy spell and he lost his balance.

Thankfully, Devasena’s reflexes were still fast as ever and she managed to steady him before he could fall flat on his face.

“Easy, there,” she murmured as he tried to regain his footing. “You can lean on me. I won’t break.”

“I know,” he acknowledged. “Just give me a moment.”

It took him a few minutes to feel stable again. Not wanting to risk another episode like that, he allowed Devasena to lead him to a chair.

“How long?” she asked without preamble once he was seated.

“How long what?” He feigned ignorance.

“How long had you been feeling sick?” she said. “Why didn’t you say something if you weren’t okay? We could have asked the people to leave.”

“And give them something else to worry about?”

“No… but this is about your health.”

“I am alright.”

“No, you are not.”

“Well, then I will be soon.”

“You need to see the physician.”

“I told you I am alright.”

As if on cue, Mukundaraju walked in that very moment.

“Sorry to interrupt you, Sire,” he said. “But I overheard your conversation. And I agree with Maharani Devasena. You may disagree, but you do need to be examined. The sooner we do it, the better it will be.”

Baahubali looked at him and then looked at his wife. He felt cornered and he did not like it. But he understood where they were coming from. His body agreed with them. Now that the adrenalin was wearing off, he could feel every single day of the 25 years he had spent in captivity.

But more than needing to be looked over by a physician, he just wanted to lie down and sleep. He was unbelievably tired and in no condition to process the events of the last two days.

“I know you are tired,” the physician said knowingly. “I assure you this will not take long.”

“Okay, I will defer to your good judgment,” Baahubali acquiesced, wanting to just get it over with. “Where do we do this?”

“Your main residence is still not ready, but a guest suite has been prepared for you. We can go there. It is not far. Please come with me.”

It took them a little over a minute to get to their destination. Baahubali was out of breath and shaking slightly from the exertion.

The suite was richly decorated with hand-embroidered tapestries, solid rosewood furniture, and gilded marble floors.

“Come, Maharaj,” the physician said. “Please sit on this daybed. Do you want Maharani to stay or would you prefer for her to leave?”

“It would be better if she left,” he mumbled, not daring to look at his wife. He knew she would be hurt but he also hoped she would understand. It was bad enough that he was going to be examined head to toe by a physician he was intimately familiar with for all the wrong reasons. He didn’t want to worsen the experience by having her around to watch.

Devasena did not say anything. Her lips thinned into a tight grimace and she left without a word. She wasn’t angry at her husband. She completely understood why he wanted the examination to be private. However, his refusal to say it to her directly spoke of a much deeper issue.

He was embarrassed and uncomfortable about being around her. He was questioning his self-worth in the worst way possible.

She walked out of the room. Maybe it would help to go outside for a bit. She needed to think. But barely ten steps later, a ball of dread settled into her stomach. She felt panicked and nervous. No, she could not be away from Baahubali. She needed to be near him. She turned around and walked back to the room.

She decided to wait outside. She was anxious to know more about his condition anyway. Once they were done, the physician and he would come out and tell her everything. Then, together, they would figure out what to do next.

But would they?

What if her husband did not want to tell her everything? What if he pretended everything was okay, in order to keep her from worrying? What if he lied to her?

She couldn’t let that happen either.

Against her better judgement and all her ethical principles, she decided to peep into the room through the keyhole. She was somewhat disgusted with herself. But deep inside, she knew that if she didn’t find out for herself, Baahubali would never share the complete truth with her.

Making sure that the hallway was empty, she bent forward and watched through the keyhole and the narrow slit between the door and the doorframe.

XXXXX

“I know this is a rather distressing situation for you, Maharaj, but you know these are very different circumstances. You need to relax.”

Mukundaraju’s words were spoken with a quiet desperation. Baahubali’s stance was stiff with tension. But for this examination to be successful, he would have to calm down.

Besides, this was nerve-wracking on the physician as well. It had been over a month since he had last examined Baahubali. And it had been as unpleasant as always.

Over the last 25 years, he had seen all kinds of gruesome, nauseating injuries on this man. And every time, he had done his best to save his life, always scared that one day, he would be too late, or the king would go too far.

‘He often did go too far,’ he thought bitterly. But he couldn’t dwell on this for long. He had a job to do. He couldn’t afford to be distracted.

“What do you need me to do?” Baahubali asked stonily.

“I need to take your pulse first and to make sure you are not running a fever.”

Mukundaraju did so in silence.

“Pulse is a little fast," he noted. "And you do feel a little warm but nothing to worry about. Now the hard part. Um…You need to take off your shirt for this.”

Baahubali complied. His body was still rigid, and his eyes were unfocused, as if he was trying to take his mind somewhere far away. Anywhere but this room.

The physician sucked in a breath at the sight of his torso. He wasn’t shocked by the scars. He had gotten used to them. And he was also used to seeing new ones every few months as the injuries healed badly and formed keloids. But he hadn’t known how rough this past month had been.

“I should have been called,” he said more to himself than his patient, as he took a closer look at the fading green bruises on his lower abdomen, the large, messy overlay of thick, jagged cuts on his wasted pectoral muscles, a missing chunk of flesh on his left shoulder, and an angry red burn just below his heart.

But there was more. Fresh injuries. He had been hurt in the battle against Bhallaladeva. A superficial stab wound, a long horizontal cut made by a sword, and a relatively shallow arrow wound in his side completed the gory patchwork that needed to be worked on.

Just to be sure that he had covered everything, Mukundaraju walked behind Baahubali to look at his back. Mercifully, barring some cuts and bruising, there were no other wounds there; only scars that hopefully did not hurt anymore.

“Are you injured anywhere else?” he asked.

Baahubali shook his head.

“Are you sure?” the physician asked again, looking straight into the younger man’s eyes.

He hesitated but answered truthfully this time.

“My left knee,” he said. “I cannot put any weight on it without considerable pain. It has been like that since the last beating almost a week ago. And… and the bottoms of my feet. From four days ago.”

Mukundaraju sighed deeply. He had to remind himself that this was the last time he would have to do this. Bhallaladeva was dead. There would be no more cruelty. Never again.

“Okay, I will deal with that first,” he exclaimed. “And then we can discuss your long-term recovery and rehabilitation plan. Please lie down on the bed. You can close your eyes if you want to.”

Baahubali lay down and closed his eyes. Within moments, he was fast asleep.

Meanwhile, the physician got to work. He was back to doing what he had done for 25 years—healing their true king so he could live to fight one more battle.

XXXXX

Devasena hoped she would be strong enough. But she was so very wrong.

When the physician asked Baahubali to take off his shirt, she wondered if she should look away. But her curiosity got the better of her. And she continued to watch.

Except, she shouldn’t have.

As soon as her husband unhooked his shirt, she should have prepared herself for an unsavory sight. But she didn't

He was so thin. His ribs, shoulders blades, and collarbone jutted out obscenely. And the view of his scarred, mutilated back shocked her to her very core.

She managed to stop herself from screaming only by gritting her teeth against the sound of her anguish. There were no words for what had been done to her beloved.

And even blinded by her tears, she noticed that the scars didn’t end at his lower back. Instead, they went past it and disappeared under the waistband of his pants.

What did that mean? Had he been subjected to the additional indignity of being naked during the torture? Had he been left to shiver in the brutal winters of Mahishmati? How had he managed to stay sane through all of this?

She did not have the answers and she was scared of finding out. But she understood his skittishness a bit better now and she vowed to be there for him through every step of this arduous journey to recovery.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The physician shares some of his observations and conclusions with Devasena. She tries to be a pillar of support to her husband. Sorry guys, I wasn't able to fit Mahendra in this. There will be Mahendra and fluff in the next one.

For almost an hour, Devasena waited. She sat on the floor with her knees held close to her chest. She did not look through the keyhole again.

She had seen enough. She now needed to talk to the physician in order to understand how she could help.

Finally, Mukundaraju came out. He did not notice Devasena.

“Vaidayaji,” she called out.

He turned around.

“Maharani,” he acknowledged and bowed with his right fist over his heart.

“I need to talk to you,” she said. “Walk with me.”

Mukundaraju was not yet accustomed to taking orders from Devasena but he did not show it. However, he also had a fairly good idea of what she wanted to talk about and he didn’t think it was wise to have that conversation in a hallway, even if it was deserted.

“Maharani,” he said. “Why don’t we go to my office in the royal infirmary. It isn’t very far. We will have some privacy there.”

Devasena saw the merit in his suggestion.

“Okay,” she agreed. “Lead the way.”

Once there, he offered her a seat. “Can I get you something to drink?”

“No,” she answered. “Let’s just talk, please.”

“As you wish,” he sighed. But he poured her a glass of water anyway. “You might require this during our conversation. If I wasn’t worried about propriety, I would offer you a therapeutic dose of wine.” He didn’t know why the last sentence slipped out of his mouth, but he knew he should not have said it. He was talking to the new Queen Mother even if it wasn’t official yet.

“I think it’s best to observe propriety in these matters,” she said coldly. “Besides, I’d rather be sober for this. How is my husband?”

“He is as well as can be under the circumstances,” Mukundaraju tried to field the question. His own patience was stretched thin. He had been forced to relive Bhallaladeva’s savagery vividly while cleaning, sewing, debriding, and bandaging Amarendra’s wounds.

“Listen, I need to be able to help him get through this,” Devasena said, her voice softer and humbler this time. “Only you can tell me what happened to him all these years. Only you can guide me on how to support him through his recovery.”

“It is not going to be easy to listen to this.”

“I know.”

“It is also my story. I saw him through the eyes of a healer. I saw things other people could not see.”

“I am sure.”

“Okay. Then listen.”

XXXXX

_It is a boon to be blessed with powers of healing. I was twice as blessed to have taken birth in the clan of Dhruvadasa, the famed surgeon and physician that lived almost 300 years ago. My father, grandfather, and their fathers before them, were all healers. I grew up in the infirmary of the royal palace because for centuries, our family served as the chief physicians to the Sarvasteera dynasty, also the clan of Maharaj Bhallaladeva, our king._

_It was simply by the virtue of my birth that I could succeed my father as the chief physician at the relatively young age of 28; young for a physician, that is._

_My first few days at the palace were uneventful. Like the other citizens of the kingdom, I was aware that Amarendra Baahubali was a prisoner._

_It was the eighth day of Pausa and the 13 th day of that winter’s coldest spell. It was as if the air itself had frozen into numerous shards of ice. The chill cut through the warmest of shawls. No hearth was ever hot enough. People were forced to stay indoors. Business was slow. Shops remained closed. Food was scarce. The worst affected were the poor, the widows, and the orphans. To top it all, absolutely no assistance was offered by the palace. And yet, the date of the monthly tax collection was not moved. _

_Out of sheer desperation, a group of young men, all laborers—and fathers of small children—came together to form a resistance. They managed to sneak into the palace. Their goal was to free Amarendra Baahubali. And to have him lead a revolt. Unfortunately, before they could reach the cage, they were caught and shackled._

_Maharaj was livid. The four traitors would be put to death in public but not before the spirit of rebellion was utterly crushed for all of their allies and well-wishers. Ultimately, some 200 citizens were arrested. They included men, women, old people, and even children, some of whom were still in their mothers’ arms. They were tied in chains and brought to the hall of public audience. Baahubali, the leader they hoped to free, was also dragged in. And in front of everyone, the four captives were to be executed for treason by_ _burning of the hands and the skin. That is what Kautilya’s Arthashastra says._

_Unless, their leader confessed that he was behind them._

_And Baahubali confessed. He said he had indeed left behind instructions with these men to revolt if he was ever imprisoned. He took the entire blame for their act upon himself._

_His confession was accepted, and he was found guilty of high treason and attempt to murder_. _The captives’ charges were reduced to conspiracy and they were sentenced to bonded labor for the next 12 years. Their original sentence would be carried out against Baahubali._

_But our king said he did not wish to subject his own foster brother to such a death. Instead, the punishment was commuted to life imprisonment and immediate removal of the prisoner’s caste status and the protections offered by it. That technically stripped him of everything including his humanity because even slaves, shudras and avarnas in our society are guaranteed certain rights. Amarendra Baahubali would not be counted even among them._

_The formalization of this decree was carried out by the head priest of Mahishmati’s mahamandir. The record was engraved in copper and copied onto numerous rolls of karpasika pata and sent to all the corners of the kingdom. In effect, this meant that no one was allowed to communicate with him except for the king and those who had his approval._

_Needless to say, while I felt bad, I did not care enough to rebel. I had of course heard of Baahubali’s exploits, his goodness and his greatness. But I had not seen it for myself. Nor had I ever seen the man in person unless you counted the ceremony of his appointment as the commander-in-chief of the army._

_I was not naïve. I, like everyone else, knew that Maharaj had not spared Baahubali’s life out of mercy. He had simply prolonged his brother’s misery for his own pleasure. And depriving him of a social identity was simply the first of the many humiliations he would heap upon him._

_But I am getting ahead of myself._

_The captives were taken away. The hall was completely silent. The people were horrified. But they should have known it was not over. It was never over when Maharaj was involved. In order to be allowed to live, Baahubali would have to learn that any act of treason, including escape, would have dire consequences for every single person he had ever interacted with._

_For hours that night, he was tortured mercilessly in front of all those people. They were only released after Maharaj was satisfied by Baahubali’s screams of agony. He was also forced to swear that he would never attempt an escape or another revolt and that he accepted his status as an amanushya, neither human nor animal._

_Later, I was told to go and ensure that the prisoner did not die of his wounds. It was one of the hardest things I have ever had to do. That night, sleep did not come to me. I should have known that I would see many more of such nights over the course of the coming years._

_Maharaj used Baahubali as his personal punching bag, a stress-reliever. But often, one could tell that there was more to it. For instance, many a time, he was brought in for “interrogation.” He was asked if he had left any more instructions behind, if he had told lies about the king, revealed important security details to commoners and other similar questions that everyone knew were useless. A few times though, and this was only when he was with his closest aides, he wanted Baahubali to talk about you. He wanted him to speak of intimate matters that should never be known to anyone but a wife and her husband. I do not need to tell you, I think, that none of these interrogations ever yielded any answers. Consequently, they never ended well._

_Sometimes, his bones were broken; twisted awkwardly or even jutting out of his skin. It would have been excruciatingly painful. When he was lucky enough to be bleeding to death, I was called in and I was able to set the breaks before they healed in the wrong positions. Four times though, I saw him many days after the fractures had occurred. The natural healing process had already begun by then. On those occasions, I had to rebreak the bones and set them again. Each of those treatments elicited screams from him. I was always scared that the shock would be too much for him, that his heart would give out. I wished I could give him just a smidgen of opium to dull the pain. But he wouldn’t hear of it. If Maharaj ever found out, he would have had me killed. And Baahubali was never going to let that happen._

_He has subcutaneous scarring from these barbaric treatments but at least, he is not crippled. He very well could have been._

_I do not need to tell you that he is malnourished. He was not allowed a proper diet. For days together, he was left without food and water. And when he was given food, it was usually no more than a mush made from kitchen waste. Also, this means that he will be unaccustomed to the ordinary fare of the palace. I will inform the kitchens that for the next few weeks, his meals should be kept light, simple, and nutritious._

_But it is not just his body that we must heal._

_It is also his mind. He is not a broken man. But much like his bones, the fractures on his soul were never allowed to truly heal. He has just barely held all the pieces of himself together. You must join them for him and make him whole again before he falls apart and scatters away for good._

_Love and time. Patience. Care. He must know he is not at fault. He must be allowed to direct his anger at his brother. He should know that he has rights, that the decree against him will be revoked because it was never valid to begin with and that he was indeed subjected to a grave injustice. His mind, of course, knows this. But you, our Queen Mother, must convince his heart to believe it._

_Will Maharaj Mahendra Baahubali, our new sovereign, seek the pardon of his father for the crimes committed against him by Mahishmati?”_

XXXXX

Devasena had no words with which to respond to the physician’s tale. She felt worse than she had an hour ago, or in her entire 47 years. For several minutes, neither she nor the physician said anything else. But she couldn’t sit in the infirmary forever.

“I must go,” she broke the silence.

Mukundaraju did not stop her.

She stumbled back into the palace in a daze. She did not remember how she got back to the guest room where her husband was currently resting. Her chest felt tight as if she had cried for hours. But her eyes felt dry as a drought.

She took a long look at her Baahubali, her Veer.

He looked peaceful.

She quietly stepped out of the room again and made her way to the guest kitchens. Thankfully, she remembered where they were.

Everything felt foreign and familiar at once. The chefs stood up on seeing her in the doorway.

“What can we do for you, Maharani,” a middle-aged chef asked her. His name was Teemal. He remembered when Devasena had first come to Mahishmati as Bhallaladeva’s betrothed and Baahubali’s wedded.

“I need a little space in the kitchen to work by myself,” she said.

“You can have as much space as you like, milady,” another chef said. “But we are here to serve you. We will prepare whatever it is that you wish to have.”

“I appreciate it, but I really would like to have just one little corner for about an hour or so,” Devasena insisted.

“As you wish,” Teemal said and then turned to the other cooks. “Sanaj, you will vacate your spot now. Leave a spice-box near the stove and be within hearing range so that if Maharani needs something, she can call for you.”

“Please come,” he said to Devasena.

She took a seat in front of the stove and dictated to Sanaj a list of everything she needed. “… half-a-cup of moong lentils, a quarter cup of rice, a few sprigs of cilantro, a tablespoon of ghee, and a quarter cup of finely chopped carrots.”

Within a few minutes, she was supplied with everything she had requested.

The physician’s words were stuck in her mind.

Her husband had not eaten anything in days. And considering he was used to going hungry for extended periods of time, he hadn’t even mentioned it. A part of her was elated to be doing this for him. She felt like a new bride in her new home, making her first dish in the kitchen to mark the beginning of her married life in an auspicious manner.

But the fact that she was making khichree instead of something festive like payasam or kudumulu was a sobering reminder of reality.

She ladled the khichree into a bowl and covered it. She placed it on a tray along with a large cup of water and a few pieces of cucumber.

A maid servant offered to carry the tray for her, but she declined.

Baahubali was still asleep. She placed the food on a side table and sat down at the edge of the day bed. Her fingers involuntarily reached for his face. She lightly brushed his hair away from his eyes. The hair itself felt limp, brittle, and lifeless between her fingers. It was also greasy.

 _“I am a bit dirty….”_ She remembered his words. Looking at him closely, she could agree with him. But it was nothing to be ashamed of. It wasn’t his fault. 

She stood up and went to the bathing chamber attached to their room. A large vat filled with fresh water sat in a corner. New washcloths, soap, a stick of neem datun, and a bottle of rose oil were kept on a shelf above the vat. She opened the bottle of oil and sprinkled a few drops into the water.

Satisfied, she came back and wondered if she should wake him up?” He had been sleeping for three hours.

“Veer,” she said, patting him softly on his uninjured shoulder.

He opened his eyes.

“It is true then,” he whispered, his words filled with awe, his eyes still faraway. “You are alive. You and our son.”

“It is true,” she confirmed and smiled at him. Joy surged through her once again as she thought about everything that had happened in the last two days. She had him back. He wasn’t dead. Even with everything he had suffered through, he was still here.

“I am so glad we’re together,” she couldn’t help saying.

“As am I,” he answered. 

“I… I… Erm... do you want to take a bath and perhaps eat something?” She asked him.

His eyes darkened just for a moment. But before she could detect the emotion in them, he blinked. “Yes, I would like that very much,” he said and tried to get up.

“Here, let me help,” she offered and helped him sit up. “Better?”

“Thank you,” he said. It took him a few seconds, but he stood up unaided.

But just as he was about to enter the bathing chamber, he stopped. His left foot lingered inside the doorframe as if worried that it had no right to cross the threshold.

He turned around, anxiety and fear evident on his face.

“Do you need something else before you go in?” Devasena asked. “Do you… do you need help? Should I call for an attendant?”

He wished he could tell her what was wrong, but the truth was he himself wasn’t entirely sure. He wanted to take a bath so badly that he could feel his skin tingling with excitement and relief. But he was also scared. A part of him felt like a slave who had stolen from his master and would be discovered any minute.

But he did not say this to his wife. Instead, he focused on a practical matter.

“I don’t need… an attendant,” he managed to say. “But I don’t have a fresh change of clothes. Though I don’t mind wearing this again,” he added hastily, referring to the tattered tunic and pants he was wearing.

Devasena seethed with anger.

Her proud husband. Her amazing, strong, wonderful Veer. He had been humbled so much that she wanted to punch something.

But she controlled her reaction. His needs were priority. Her temper tantrum could wait.

“I will arrange a fresh set of clothes for you,” she said. “Why don’t you go for your bath?”

He nodded gratefully.

This time, he did not hesitate before entering the bathing chamber.

Devasena let out a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding.

Arranging for a new set of clothes was not easy. She did not want to ask any unknown manservants or maids. But she had no idea where Katappa was either. Her only option was to get something from the tailoring workshop of the army. They usually had spare tunics and pants in every size.

She didn’t want to leave her husband alone while he bathed. She wanted to remain close by in case he needed something. But he had asked for such a small thing. Did he not deserve to feel clean, untarnished cloth on his skin after all this time? How could she not fulfil such a basic request?

She could send a guard to get the clothes. But how would he know what size to look for?

Reluctantly, she decided to go and get the clothes herself. She promised herself she would make it quick. Hopefully, it wouldn’t be too difficult to find clothes in his size.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reviews make me happy. Please leave a comment. Pretty please :)


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys. Sorry I took so long to update. Was really busy with a bunch of stuff. Hope you like this chapter. Please don't forget to leave a comment if you are reading this story. I love hearing from you and it encourages me to keep writing. Let me know if there's a specific scenario/mission scene you'd like to see.

It felt strange after all these years to be naked in private. It felt stranger still to know that he didn’t have to hurry or hide for fear that someone would come. It had been so long since he had been inside a bathing chamber. A part of him was afraid of the vat of water sitting in front of him. He could not shake off the feeling that he had no right to the water. He felt like an imposter, a liar.

And in his mind, he was a liar. The people he had interacted with so far pretended that nothing was wrong, that they could just pick up from where they had left off 25 years ago, and that everything would go back to how it used to be.

But they all knew it wouldn’t, especially not for him. He was not one of them. He accepted Katappa’s kindness and tolerated Mukundaraju's ministrations. But he also understood that thanks to his non-human status, he wasn’t entitled to any of it even after being released from his cage.

He was uncomfortable around his wife too. Of course, to know that she was alive and well had filled him with immense relief and joy. He had seen the same sentiment reflected clearly in her eyes as well. But while she had embraced him so readily, he felt unworthy of her.

She was a princess.

He was nothing.

She had borne him a son and raised him all by herself.

He had spent the last two and a half decades rotting away like a living corpse.

She was still beautiful, brave, and alive.

He was old, exhausted, and dead inside.

He also knew he would break her heart if he told her how he really felt. If he could have it his way, he would probably take leave of everyone and go somewhere far away to live out the remainder of his days anonymously. But he knew he wouldn’t be allowed to do that.

He could only take each moment as it came. With his lips sealed against any sound of discomfort, he braced himself against the wall as he peeled off the dressings from his numerous wounds. It took him several agonizing minutes to rid himself of all the bandages. It would have been easier to have an attendant help him but despite his difficulties, he was glad that he was all by himself for his first bath.

Some of the older injuries reopened in this process but he paid no mind to them. Instead, he steeled his nerves and forced himself to look in the mirror.

His eyes widened in shock as he took in his own appearance. For a moment, he couldn’t recognize himself.

This dirty, ragged body. This thin, sallow face. Those hollow cheeks. Those lifeless eyes. That matted hair. That bushy, unkempt beard. These chapped, discolored lips. This scarred, misshapen torso. This swollen, bruised neck.

It was him.

And yet it wasn’t.

It was a nothing, a nobody.

Once again, the overwhelming realization of how far he had fallen, threatened to drag him under.

But with a merciless courage he hadn’t known he possessed, he turned away from the mirror and experimentally, dipped his left foot into the vat of water.

An involuntary sigh of pleasure escaped from his lips. He swallowed roughly and reached for the washcloth.

XXXXX

The visit to the tailoring workshop was awkward. She knew where to go. She had no trouble finding her way around the palace and its adjoining areas.  Her difficulties began when she got to her destination. The workshop was basically a shed where hundreds of craftsmen worked in groups of four and five to complete a single uniform. Most of the staff comprised of teenage boys.

At first, no one noticed her. But then, Dhirendra, an embroiderer saw her. He nudged his partner to look up. Soon, the busily working fingers ceased to thread, sew, and stitch. Instead, murmurs broke out in every corner of the workshop.

Even though they had witnessed parts of the battle, these workers weren’t quite sure of what to make of the “Queen’s” visit.

For several minutes, Devasena was at a loss for words.

But then one of the older tailors took pity on her.

“Can we help you with something?” he asked.

“Um, yes,” she managed to say. “I need a clean set of clothes for a tall, thin man.”

“We aren’t allowed to give away uniforms unless they have been issued,” the man answered uncomfortably. “Though I am assuming you need the clothing for the priso… no, I mean, for Amarendra Baahubali Garu?”

“Yes.”

“We cannot… give you a uniform. But will a set of plain, white clothing do?”

Devasena sighed. No. Plain, white clothing wouldn't do. He deserved something better than that. But she also recognized that this was perhaps the only option available to her for now. 

“It will do" she said.  "Thank you so much.”

After that rather inelegant exchange, Devasena was anxious to get back to Baahu. She didn’t feel right leaving him alone. She knew how tired and weak he was. What if he lost his balance again? What if he needed something? What if he had a panic attack?

She practically sprinted back to their guest suite, but she was only greeted by the gentle sounds of water splashing in the bathing chamber. She placed the fresh set of clothes on the settee outside his door.

And then, she went back to the bedroom and waited for him to come out.

While she waited, Katappa came to see her.

“Milady” he greeted her.

“Katappa,” she nodded at him. “I am glad you came. I need to ask you so many things. I just got him a new set of clothes and I had a discussion with the physician. He said….”

“Milady,” Katappa interrupted her. “Please pardon me. I will answer all your questions. I promise you that. But first, there are matters that must be taken care of. I have come to inform you of several immediate developments that need your urgent attention. Maharaj is awake. He is asking to see you and his father. Prabhu Bijjaladeva has asked that he should not be disturbed for the next several hours. He is meeting with his trusted aides and advisors. Maharani Vaidehi is preparing for the funeral of Maharaj Bhallaladeva and her son, Yuvaraj Bhadradeva. Your… your family from the Amburi village were asked to leave by the Maharani. They wanted to see you and your son before leaving but the queen insisted. They had no choice. Maharaj Jayasena, his family, and his army have been temporarily housed in the Navarasa Bhavan, the residential complex of the royal entertainers. They wished to see you as well. But Maharani told them that the royal family was in mourning for the next three days. And no one will be allowed to meet any member of the family for this duration. I believe you should know about Amarendra Baahubali’s legal status. He is not consid…”

“I know that,” It was Devasena’s turn to interrupt. She didn't want to hear the entire sordid account yet again. Her emotional control was already stretched thin. “Mukundaraju told me everything," she said. 

“Well, then you know what must happen next. Your son Mahendra should be coronated as soon as possible. Only a king can revoke a royal decree. And he is not the king officially unless he is crowned in an oath-taking ceremony in front of the subjects of Mahishmati.”

“Mama, please,” the younger woman almost begged. “Just give us a few hours. Baahu is taking a bath. Please let him eat something before you suck him into the quicksand of the kingdom’s affairs.”

“Of course, I am so sorry. You are right. Everything can wait for a few hours. What should I tell Mahendra?”

“Tell him we will come and see him as soon as we can.

XXXXX

At long last, Baahubali came out of the bathing chamber. He was grateful for the clothes Devasena brought him. It felt wonderful to wear a new shirt after so long. The soft cloth felt alien on his rough, marred skin. But it also made him feel a little bit like his older self. His hopelessness seemed to lessen a little as the sharp, clean scent of the _reetha_ -infused laundry soap filled his nostrils.

After wearing his clothes, he combed his hair. It was cumbersome to handle a comb because of his missing thumbs. Twice, the comb fell from his grasp. Finally, he gave up and used his fingers to tidy his hair.

He entered the bedroom.

Devasena was waiting for him.

“How do you feel?” she asked him. Her quick eyes took in the way the clothes seemed to just hang on his frame. But she didn’t say anything. He looked better after a bath. And she was glad for every tiny improvement.

“I… I actually feel… good,” Baahubali answered simply.

“I made you something to eat. It’s nothing fancy. Just some khichree.”

“Er… I didn’t say I was feeling good enough for another battle yet.”

“Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

“What do think I’m saying?”

“That eating my food is like going into battle?”

“That is exactly what I am saying.”

“Why, you little… you little… you little mango!”

“Mango! Mango? Huh! What sort of an insult is that?”

“Never you mind,” Devasena snapped bossily, slipping back easily into the banter she had always enjoyed with her husband. “Our son has been eating my food for 25 years and he has not gotten sick even once. You can’t tease me about my cooking skills anymore. You will eat this khichree. I assure you it is not poisoned.”

Amarendra smiled.

“From your hands, even poison will taste like nectar.”

With that, he took his first bite of the khichree. Again, his handicap made it difficult to eat gracefully. But that was the last thing on their minds.

The very first morsel of the khichree spread warmth on Baahubali’s tongue. He couldn’t quite understand why but suddenly, his chest tightened as if a dam was straining against his ribcage. It took all his willpower to keep himself from bursting into tears.

‘Do you like it?” Devasena asked with almost childlike uncertainty.

“It… it is very tasty,” he said. He didn’t say anything else. She watched him eat, observing every muscle that moved around his lips, the way his remaining fingers on each hand compensated for his disability, and the fact that his eyes avoided looking at her directly.

As for him, he savored each bite. A part of him wanted to gobble up the meal as fast as he could, before it was taken away from him. But he had gotten so used to eating slowly all these years-- to trick his mind into believing that he had eaten a full meal even when he had been given no more than a few spoonfuls—that it took him a long time to finish his meal.

“Thank you so much,” he said earnestly after placing the empty tray on the floor.

“Thank _you._ ” Devasena said but he didn’t ask why. He didn’t feel the need to.

XXXXX

Maharani Vaidehi managed to get the old Rajmata’s room cleaned up within hours. Since it was the most elaborate suite in the royal palace and hadn’t been used in 25 years, it was perfect for the new king.

She hated how easily she was able to give orders for its cleaning and refurnishing barely minutes after meeting with the royal morticians who were at that very moment preparing her husband’s and son’s bodies for their last rites.

She did get some perverse satisfaction by mistreating those tribals Devasena had lived with and the rebels from her old kingdom, Kuntala.

She didn’t fully understand why her anger was so focused on her sister-in-law but it felt good to get angry. The pain of losing Bhadra was finally hitting her but it also strengthened her resolve to truly be the queen she had only been in name for all these years.

She was adding some final touches to the furnishings in Sivagami’s old rooms when Sankaran, an assistant healer, brought her the news that Mahendra was awake.

Swallowing back bile, she told him to bring the Yuvaraj to her.

And now that he was here in front of her, she could not think of anything to say to him.

“Aunt?” he said, his voice low and unsure.

“I prepared your grandmother’s rooms for you,” she said without preamble, sidestepping his unspoken question. “This is the grandest suite in the palace. As the king, you deserve no less.”

He started to respond but she walked out without another word.

She couldn’t bear to look at his face.

He reminded her of the prisoner and of her cowardice in never reaching out to him. He was also her son’s killer. Maybe, in time she would learn to control her reaction.

But it wouldn’t be today. Or tomorrow. Or for quite a while.

XXXXX

Sivudu still couldn’t think of himself as Mahendra Baahubali, the son of Amarendra Baahubali. He was also puzzled by the behavior of his aunt, Queen Vaidehi. He could understand some of her anger towards him. After all, he had killed her husband and her child. But he didn’t understand her actions.

She had made it her priority to get a suite ready for him.

Looking at his current surroundings, he could tell that she had done her best to make him as comfortable as possible. There was no trace of his grandmother in these rooms. There was a tall, full-length mirror but no dressing table next to it. There were cupboards and closets but there were no compartments for items of _shringara._ The walls were covered with plain blue draperies instead of the floral patterns that typically adorned women’s rooms. There was a shrine in a corner but instead of Goddess Shakti or the iconic image of Bala Gopala, a statue of Lord Shiva graced its central sanctum.

He wondered when his parents would be ready to meet him again. He had told the physician that he wanted to speak to them. But the truth was that he wanted to speak to his mother in private. He still wasn’t ready to talk to his father.

He wasn’t even sure what to say to the man. What could he say to a legend, a hero, who had literally fallen from his glory and stayed down at heel for half a lifetime?

In any case, he would find out soon enough.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry for such a long wait but here I am, back with another chapter. It has taken me so long to get to writing but I am beyond grateful that I was able to. Partially, it was because of the lovely reviews people left me. If you are still reading this story, please let me know what you think of the latest chapter and where you would like to see this saga go.

“Our son is waiting for us,” Devasena said to her husband. “This whole situation is so bizarre. I think he is not quite sure what to make of it.”

“Quite understandable,” Baahu agreed. “Maybe you should go to him. You’ve spent the last couple hours taking care of me. Mahendra needs you now. I will be okay by myself for a bit.”

“Are you sure? Why don’t you come along?”

“Not yet. He… he doesn’t really know me. You are the only one with whom he can freely be himself in this entire palace.”

Devasena could not argue with that. “Okay. I guess I need to find out where exactly he is.”

Outside the guest chamber, a manservant was waiting for her. Katappa had asked him to wait for the new Queen Mother. As always, he was two steps ahead of everyone.

“Do you know where my son is?” Devasena asked the man.

“I do, milady,” he answered. “Please come with me.”

She had never been inside this part of the palace. This was obviously where the ruling members of the royal family lived. The walls were decorated with intricately carved jeweled motifs and a thin inlay of real gold lined the gemstone paintings that graced the ceiling.

She was led into a large, comfortable antechamber.

“Please wait here while I inform the Maharaj of your presence.”

It felt rather strange to be waiting to meet her son. Playful, carefree Sivudu. The prince of Mahishmati. Raised by a fugitive among a simple community of tribals.

And now she waited to see him while a richly dressed servant went to “inform him of her presence.”

She couldn’t control a snort at that.

“I didn’t know you could make that sound too,” Sivudu’s deep voice came from behind her. “But I can bet, I can make it even uglier and funnier than you.”

The servant’s mouth hung open as he heard Maharaj Mahendra Baahubali’s words.

“You can go now,” Devasena said hastily to him. “I know how to get back from here. Thanks.”

The servant bowed deeply and left.

“You are the king now, Mahendra,” she said to her son. “You can’t be seen as a commoner anymore. And that includes no more silliness. No more snorting like a boar either.”

“You are no fun, ma,” Sivudu shook his head. “At least now I know where you got your grumpiness from. All royals are grumpy. That Bhallaladeva. Queen Vaidehi. That old man… what’s his name? Bijlideva…”

“… Bijjaladeva.” Devasena corrected.

“Yeah, him. And you. Even your brother, the leader of Avanthika’s resistance. Now I know why you are so different from Dodamma Sanga. You are an uptight royal.”

“Don’t be mean,” Devasena gently chided her son. “And well, your father is a royal. He isn’t uptight. Never was. Never will be.”

“We don’t know that, ma. Do we?”

Within moments, the lightheartedness of their exchange vanished. And the somber question uttered almost nonchalantly hung heavy in the room.

“We… I do need to talk about this with you,” Devasena said after a few seconds. “You need to be formally coronated and…”

“Mother, I don’t know if you have been told but for the next three days, Mahishmati is officially mourning.”

“Katappa mentioned that when he came to see us a while ago,” she said. “But he also stressed that until you are formally recognized as the new king, we will all be in significant danger.”

“I don’t know how all this royalty protocol works but I hardly think you can organize an _abhishekam_ while the kingdom is in mourning. Besides, doesn’t Mahishmati allow for female rulers? What if Aunt Vaidehi wants to take over?”

Devasena had not thought about this. Sivudu was right. Mahishmati did allow women to take over as rulers after the passing of their husbands. But that only ever happened in exceptional cases.

“Rajmata Sivagami Devi declared you the king hours after your birth,” she reasoned. “I think Bhallaladeva’s entire reign was void in the light of the fact that you were alive. So Akka Vaidehi doesn’t really have a claim to the throne.”

Devasena hated to think like this. And she wasn’t power hungry. Given a choice, she would have liked nothing better than to take her son and her husband and go back to Amburi. But she understood the weight of Bhallaladeva’s death and the power vacuum he left behind. If left unfilled, they would all be fair game for whoever chose to take advantage of this temporary vulnerability. And Devasena had no intention of ever being vulnerable again.

“How is father doing?” Sivudu interrupted her musings.

She took a moment to form her words.

“He… I… you have seen him,” she answered vaguely. “Thank God he is alive. But, he isn’t fine. Not by a long shot.”

“I know that,” Sivudu’s eyes were haunted. “When I found him… I will… I will never forget that look in his eyes. But mother, do you think… do you think he will recover?”

“I know he will recover,” Devasena’s voice was steady with conviction. “If anyone can recover from such an ordeal, it is your father. Or do you doubt it?

Sivudu did not dare to respond to her with what was truly on his mind.

“I sense your disagreement,” Devasena’s voice was hard as steel.

“Mother, I saw what father is capable of during the battle against Bhallaladeva,” Sivudu responded gently. “But I also saw that he is nothing like the battle legend you described in your stories. He may have been that way 25 years ago. But mother, today, he is no longer that. And yes, I am doubtful of his ability to recover. Do you not remember Karauni, Trimpani’s son?”

Devasena thought about Karauni; one of the greatest warriors in the Amburi tribe. Even though the Amburi were mostly a peaceful people, they had had their fair share of challenges and some trouble with the Samharas, a somewhat distant and warlike hill tribe.

Karauni had been captured in battle by the Samhara general and after 26 days of extreme torture and interrogation, he had been returned to Amburi, half-dead and delirious with shame because he had blurted out some battle secrets. After that, Rushima had led an offensive against the Samhara people and later, when the fighting refused to cease, the tribe’s elders and wise men had sat down together to call for a truce. And thanks to their foresight, the tribes were still at peace with each other.

But Karauni? He had fallen from grace in his own eyes and even though he recovered physically with the passage of time, his mind was broken. Every night, he thrashed about and wept in his sleep. He never attended any village festivals. And his wife had left him because he was unable to father any children with her.

“My husband will not end up like Karauni,” Devasena snapped.

Sivudu noticed the use of the words, ‘my husband,’ instead of ‘your father.’

“I hope you are right mother,” he sighed. “I wish so with all my heart.”

XXXXX

Baahubali sat patiently in his guest room for Devasena to return. He could have gone out and taken a walk, but he was still too tired and in pain for any unnecessary physical movement. Besides, he no longer had the confidence to go around the palace all alone… though this was something he admitted only reluctantly, even to himself.

While he was lost in his thoughts, an old servant came into the room. He bowed deeply.

“Sire, the Queen Mother requests to see you.”

Before Baahubali could give his consent, Queen Vaidehi walked in.

“It wasn’t a request, Ashwadhwaja,” she chastised the servant. “You are dismissed.”

Amarendra stood up somewhat shakily to greet her.

“You can sit,” she said, and he sank back into his seat gratefully.

“I would offer you my apologies for not standing up for you all these years, but I am sure you understand I was not exactly in a privileged position myself,” she began. Her words were matter-of-fact, harsh, and awkward. But there was an underlying shadow of guilt that was unmistakable. Amarendra was perceptive enough to see it and wise enough to not say anything.

Not to mention, it wasn’t his place to say anything either.

“You have found your wife and child,” the Queen went on. “And I have lost my child and my husband, thanks to your son. I intend to give you no trouble. But I do not see you as my brother-in-law. Your wife is not my sister-in-law. And your son will never mean anything to me. However, I have fought too long to survive. Even when Mahendra is crowned king, I will retain the place of the Rajmata. And you and your wife will not interfere or contest this decision. Is that understood?”

Baahubali nodded.

He had no desire to be anything in any royal capacity. He knew some people referred to him as Maharaj and thought of Devasena as the new Rajmata. But if Vaidehi wanted to retain her royal title, he wouldn’t stand in her way.

“Will you let your wife know of this as well or do I need to communicate it to her?” she asked.

“I… I will let her know,” he said.

“Good. For the next three days, Mahishmati is officially mourning the loss of her king and crown prince. There will be no official celebration of Mahendra’s coup. Mealtimes at the palace are unchanged. I expect you will be down for the evening meal with your wife.”

“As you wish, your majesty.”

“Good.”

Vaidehi was not sure why she was so being this way. In some manner, it felt great to lord it over the former prisoner who had been the object of her husband’s madness. But with each word she said to him, she felt like the children in her old kingdom who caught butterflies in their nets only to tear off their wings.

XXXXX

Bijjaladeva’s world had crashed. For the last many hours, he had been drinking. At his age, it really wasn’t good for him. But what did he care! Bhalla was dead. Bhadra was dead too. And that wretched Baahubali lived. As did his ill-omened wife and her cursed brat. He wondered for the thousandth time that day; what if Sivagami had indeed listened to him and murdered the little motherfucker when he was mewling and whimpering in his mother’s arms on that fateful night?

“Bitch,” he said contemptuously and gulped down the last few sips in his goblet in one go.

“Prabhu, you have had too much to drink,” Chaturvedi Kartikeya, the rajpurohit said. “This is no time for grieving.”

Bijjaladeva turned around and looked the pandit in the eye. Then, he spat out his last sip of wine in his face.

“No time for grieving, eh,” he sneered. “Then what is it time for, you spineless old bastard? You want me to join in the festivities like my son’s whore of a wife?”

Chaturvedi was upset but he quietly wiped his face and tried again.

“No, my lord,” he said. “I do not mean for you to join the festivities. But we can get revenge. What else do we have left? Or do you wish to cast yourself into Jeevanadhi and seek jalsamadhi? I sure hope you aren’t thinking of suicide seriously. It goes against your Kshatriya dharma.”

“To hell with Kshatriya dharma,” Bijjaladeva roared. “I don’t care anymore. And don’t pretend that you do. Where was your lecture on Dharma when my wife crowned that orphan the king? Where was it when she merely exiled him instead of having him executed on the spot?”

Chaturvedi had no answer. Even he knew the truth in his heart. Despite the ash marks on his forehead and the hundreds of beads around his neck, he was no more than a manipulative advisor to a manipulative and bitter master. He had always twisted the scriptures to defend morally indefensible ideas like social inequality, use of disproportionate violence against innocents, and cunningly corrupt statecraft that turned flourishing kingdoms into piles of smoking rubble overnight.

He knew deep down that words like dharma sounded wrong on his lips.

But revenge was still on his mind. He hated Baahubali and everything to do with him. That man represented the fall of Bijjaladeva. And Chaturvedi was immensely loyal if nothing else. He genuinely wanted retribution. And he didn’t care if he was reborn as a worm in his next life because of it.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The practical implications of Amarendra's legal status rear their ugly head. But in the midst of chaos, he and Devasena manage to find a moment just for themselves.

“I am not sure I should come,” Amarendra tried to reason with Devasena and Katappa. Sure, Queen Vaidehi had told him that he would be expected to join the family in the dining hall for the evening meal, but he did not feel ready. “Besides, I am not hungry.”

“Baahu,” Katappa said softly. “You are just scared. And it is understandable, but you have to take these tiny steps to normalcy.”

“Please,” Devasena chimed in too. “If you won’t come down to eat, I won’t go either.”

Amarendra had to give in.

“Okay, let us go,” he acquiesced. “You leave me no choice.”

Katappa walked a few steps behind Devasena and Baahubali. They clearly remembered their way around the palace and he knew they would appreciate being left alone as much as possible.

They were the last ones to enter the dining hall.

The prime minister, the rajpurohit, the personal advisors to the queen, Mahendra, and Bijjaladeva were already seated with gleaming silver thalis in front of them. Towards the left corner of the hall, the junior courtiers and religious advisors also sat, ready to be served.

A round of audible gasps was heard as everyone saw who had entered.

The Rajmata was sitting at the head of the durree.

“Come, Devasena,” she addressed her sister-in-law. “You and your husband can sit next to your son.”

Katappa bowed and left while they took their seats.

“You are late.” Vaidehi said to them. “But since this is your first day back, I will let it pass. But generally, punctuality is expected at mealtimes.”

“We are sorry about today,” Devasena said. “We won’t be late next time.”

Vaidehi didn’t respond to that. Instead, she nodded to the servers to begin serving the food.

At first, everything seemed to go smoothly.

But then, three of the junior courtiers quietly stood up and left.

Emboldened by them, the rajpurohit and Bijjaladeva also stood up.”

“What is the matter?” Vaidehi asked. “Is something wrong, father?”

“Wrong?” Bijjala sneered. “Nothing is wrong. You are enjoying this dose of power now that my son is dead. Well, enjoy breaking bread with his murderers, with the people who killed your son. I am not hungry.”

Without waiting for a response, he stormed out with the head priest in tow.

A moment later, her personal advisors stood up as well.

“We too must refuse to dine with the royal family tonight,” Sugaraman said. “While we are happy to share a meal with Maharaj Mahendra Baahuabali and his mother, the presence of the amanushya makes us uncomfortable.”

The prime minister sucked in a breath at these harsh words.

“Do you hear yourself,” he all but ground out.

“We do,” the other man answered. “And while we recognize that this is not a politically correct position to take, we cannot compromise in matters of law. As long as the amanushya remains at this durree, we cannot eat here. Please allow us to leave.”

They stood up and Vaidehi had no option but to dismiss them.

Within the next few minutes, most of the remaining diners also left.

Finally, only she, the prime minister, Devasena, Mahendra, and Baahubali remained.

“Let us eat,” she said and broke off a piece of her roti. The prime minister stole an embarrassed glance at Amarendra Baahubali’s humiliated face but did not say anything. He had been here a long time. He had been here when he and his wife had been exiled. To him, this evening’s turn of events was beyond unbelievable. To him, Bhallaladeva’s decree against his younger brother had always seemed a symbolic gesture—to dehumanize him, to break him down, and to hurt him in ways no one else could. He had never realized it carried legal weight for so many people.

Some of the religious advisors who had also refused to eat tonight, had known Baahuabli since his childhood. How did they accept him as an amanushya? Did they not remember his philosophical debates with them, his prowess in battle, his absolute selflessness towards the common people?

While these questions had effectively killed his appetite, he was determined to finish his meal. He would dine with the old king. Nothing would ever change what Baahubali meant to him and to millions of average citizens who had suffered unjustly under Bhallaladeva all these years.

He took a bite of his food and focused on chewing. He did not have the guts to make eye contact with anyone or say anything; which was just as well—because the look of total defeat in Baahubali’s eyes and the anger emanating from every fiber of Devasena’s being would have reduced the last vestiges of his confidence to cinders.

“Ma,” Mahendra’s frightened voice jolted Devasena out her shock. “I… I do not understand. I… know there is this decree against father. But, wasn’t it just..." 

“Why don’t you ask the Queen Mother?” Devasena’s voice was heavy with sarcasm.

“Devasena, please,” Baahubali whispered. “This is not important.”

“It is to me,” she shot back.

Vaidehi was about to put a morsel of food in her mouth but her fingers paused midway when she heard this.

“What do you mean?” she asked sharply. “Speak plainly, please.”

“Okay, I will speak plainly then. Legally speaking, everything to do with the previous king, including his decrees and policies, are invalid. He was never king to begin with. Mahendra was. He hasn’t led a coup to overthrow a legitimate monarch. He has taken down a tyrant to reclaim what was rightfully his since birth. And now that he is back, Bhallaladeva’s laws carry no weight. But you, the esteemed Rajmata need to step down in order to acknowledge this. Because if these laws and his entire rule have no basis, neither does your authority.”

“The people who left the dining hall don’t think so,” Vaidehi answered coolly. “In fact, I don’t agree with what my husband did to his brother. That is why I invited him to join us all for a meal. But that doesn’t mean I don’t retain my title or my position. It also does not automatically grant him his old position. I am Queen Mother because these people, even reluctantly, recognize me as such. And they abide by most of my decisions.”

“Then why did they leave?”

“Because they also abide by my husband’s decisions. Your perception has been tainted by Katappa’s version of events. Quite a few people loved and respected Maharaj Bhallaladeva. Just because your husband was a prisoner, does not change the fact that my husband was a good administrator and a powerful leader who expanded the borders of Mahishmati to the far corners of Qandahar and Kampuchia.”

“I think I am done here,” Devasena could not sit and listen to Vaidehi’s vitriol any longer.

“You are welcome to leave. As is everyone else—including the amanushya.”

Baahubali visibly flinched as he heard those words from Vaidehi’s mouth. All these years, he had thought of her as an ally, a sort of comrade who was also imprisoned, albeit differently by the same evil force.

However, now, he was being forced to reconsider everything he knew about her.

Maybe, she had always thought of him this way. Maybe, the occasional pity she had shown him, had only been superficial—like stale bread thrown to a dog instead of in the trash can.

As Devasena got up to leave, so did Mahendra and Amarendra.

Again, Vaidehi did not stop them.

“Mahendra, I need to talk to your father,” Devasena said to her son as they came out of the dining hall.

“Okay, mother.”

Mahendra left for his rooms while she and Amarendra went back to the guest suite that had been allotted to them.

Once inside, she shut the door and bolted it.

“I am so sorry about what happened,” she pulled Baahu into a tight embrace, unmindful of his injuries this time. “I am so sorry they treat you like this. I had no idea. Oh God, I had no idea.”

Baahubali wanted to reassure her. He wanted to say that it did not matter, that he was used to such treatment, that their insults did not mean anything to him.

But in that moment, he was unable to say anything at all. He allowed her to hold him and comfort him. He allowed himself to feel the hurt that had slashed at his soul all these years.

“I… I am sorry too,” he swallowed roughly. “I am sorry too.”

“You don’t deserve this,” Devasena said as she led him to the bed. “And I can’t bear the thought of staying here one more day if this is how they are going to behave with you. We can all go back to Amburi. Let Vaidehi keep this kingdom and boss around people. She can enjoy her power trip. I don’t care.”

Baahubali smiled sadly.

He would love to go with her to Amburi as well. He would be glad to never see Mahishmati again. This country and its soil had taken everything from him over and over again.

But that did not undo the oaths he had taken to always protect it, cherish it, and honor it.

“I can’t leave,” he said.

“Why not?”

“Remember the promise I made to Dhanalakshmi this morning?”

That stopped Devasena in her tracks.

The tears she had been bravely holding back, spilled out.

“You love them so much,” she sobbed. “So much! And all these people would see you as less than human.”

This time, it was Amarendra’s turn to comfort his wife.

“Shhh,” he took her in his arms and lay down. “Shhhh. Relax, don’t cry.”

Devasena chuckled.

“Look at us,” she said. “Some things never change. As always, you are the one hurt and I have my head on your shoulder. You are the one who was insulted but I am the one being comforted.”

“You underestimate yourself.”

“I do?”

“Yes. The way we are lying in each other’s arms right now—two days ago, I would have sold my soul for this, knowing that I would never get it. I am not saying you take this for granted. But while you survived and even found the strength to thrive without me, I have been as good as dead inside. It is only here, next to you, that I feel alive. Of course, I would be happier if you were smiling, but even while you cry, I want you by my side. I want nothing more.”

“I don’t want to cry.”

“Then laugh.”

“I don’t want to laugh either.”

“Then what do you want to do?”

Devasena sat up.

“I want to massage your head.”

“Massage my head?” Baahu was surprised. “I… but why?”

“Because you deserve some pampering. And it starts now.”

She didn’t wait for his response. She crossed the room and opened the almirah. She took out a small container of almond oil.

“Come, place your head in my lap.”

“But you are tired too. We can do this some other night.”

“No. I want to do this tonight.”

She opened the bottle of oil and poured some into her palm.

Then, she gently rubbed it into her husband’s bone-dry scalp. An involuntary hiss of pleasure escaped his lips.

“Do you mind if I close my eyes?”

“Not at all.”

“Can you sing to me, please.”

“Sing? Did you miss my singing?”

“A lot. I sometimes heard Vaidehi practice with one of the gurus in the Navarasa Mahal. She never could sing they way you sing. But even then, I envied Bhalla. He had her while I had lost you forever; and with you, your song.”

“Let us talk of better things, my love.” Devasena patted his cheek lovingly. She sensed the torment in his voice as he recalled bitter memories that had been his reality for so long.

“Please sing,” he requested again.

She could not say no.

“Okay, what do you want me to sing?”

“Do you… do you still remember that Krishna song? The one you sang for me in Kuntala.”

“I didn’t sing it for you.”

“Oh really? I remember those verses about throwing someone in front of the bull. If I remember correctly, it was me who you thrust in front of the bull, not Lord Krishna.”

“Oh no, I had hoped you wouldn’t register that.”

“Too bad I did, then.”

“Well, it doesn’t matter anymore, does it? I married you. That was what I wanted to do anyway.”

“Well, then remind me of how much you loved me.”

“Enough that even your ‘village idiot’ act was endearing to me.’

She continued to massage his head as they bantered back and forth. She tried to keep him engaged in conversation, hoping he’d forget about the song.

But he didn’t.

“Are you scared of singing?” he asked her at last.

She could not lie to him.

“Yes,” her voice was a low whisper.

“But why?”

“I am afraid that repeating anything from our past will lead us down the same road of tragedy. I know I am being superstitious. And perhaps, with time, I will be willing to revisit old memories and relive the good ones with you. But for now, I am just too scared of losing you again. I will not be able to bear it. It will kill me. I swear it will.”

“Okay, no singing tonight then.”

“I am sorry.”

“Never apologize to me, honey. I am your Veer, your Baahu. What is good for you is good for me. And if it isn’t music tonight for you, then it isn’t music tonight for me either.”

“You deserve a better wife than me,” she said. “I have no idea how to be here for you. I don’t know what you need. And I just refused to give you something you asked for.”

‘Shhhh. None of this. I won’t have you flagellate yourself over nothing. I have you. Everything else is unimportant. How many times must I say it for you to believe it?”

“You will have to say it countless times and I still don’t know if I will ever fully believe it.”

“Well, I will say it countless times then and hope that you will believe it.”

They didn’t talk much more after that. Briefly, she spoke about why rice was her least favorite crop to grow. He asked her about the birds in Amburi’s forest. Sleep came to them on empty stomachs; easily to him, not so easily to her.

But for once, their hearts were not hungry.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
